


Confession

by Nevar23



Category: Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic II: The Sith Lords, Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic 2
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-24
Updated: 2012-04-24
Packaged: 2017-11-04 06:29:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/390807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nevar23/pseuds/Nevar23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Atton, unable to reconcile his past with his new feelings for the Exile, deserts her. Much to his surprise, she comes after him. Angsty In-game fluffendrama.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Confession

Atton stared down at his drink, feeling the weight of failure taking up residence on his shoulders. The last few weeks had been heaven and hell all rolled into one bewildering, exhausting package. Its name was Neela Sann, and he’d deserted her, slipped out of the Hawk like a criminal.  
  
It was a look in her eyes that ignited the thought of jumping ship, a look that told him it wasn’t his imagination that things had gotten more serious between them. Neither of them were exactly at home in the realm of emotional entanglement. They had moments, but their most intimate _conversations_ had been the physical kind, played out on each others flesh. That didn’t make them any less real. When push came to shove though, he didn’t have any business wanting a woman like her. When Neela announced they were headed back to Nar Shaddaa to follow up on the Telos fuel situation and tie up a couple loose ends, he took it as a sign.  
  
The band was playing some cruelly happy little tune he was pretty sure could be an effective means of torture when her unmistakable presence hit his radar. He glanced up and watched her come in the door via the mirror that hung over the bar. Somehow he wasn’t even surprised, really. Annoyed, yes. Angry, definitely, and curious, despite his better judgment. His expression fell just shy of neutral as she approached.  
  
“You chose badly, Rand,” she said, laying her elbow on the bar as she stood between him and the next stool. “Hiding place, I mean.”  
  
He didn’t look at her, just took a drink of his Juma and sat it down before replying, his voice quietly restrained. “Go away, Neela.”  
  
She threw her gloves on the bar and climbed up on the stool next to him, waving at the bartender. “Juma, please. And keep ‘em coming.”  
  
He sighed miserably, his jaw clenching so tight his teeth hurt. Why did she have to be so damned stubborn? She was only making it harder. If she had any idea what it took for him to walk away, if she had any mercy… She never had, though, not for him.  
  
She took the glass the barkeep set down and killed it in one go, slamming it down for a refill. “Force, that’s nasty,” she commented, her eyes wide and watery from the Juma’s kick. When she slung back the second and motioned for a third, he’d had enough.  
  
He leaned back and caught the bartender’s attention, tracing a check in the air with his finger. She could sit here and drink until she passed out, but he wasn’t gonna hang around to pick up the pieces. Without comment he settled his tab and slid off the stool.  
  
“Leaving so soon?” she drawled, reaching out and catching his sleeve.  
  
He looked pointedly from his shirt to her face. “Let go of my shirt.”  
  
“Sit down and drink with me. Let’s have a proper goodbye.”  
  
He jerked his arm free, frustration threatening to disrupt his dead calm tone. “You’ll have to forgive me if I pass on that invitation.”  
  
“Go then. Run. You’re good at that, aren’t you? You ran from the Sith, now you’re running from me. Guess I should have seen it coming.”  
  
Almost grateful for her vitriol, he smiled bitterly, unhooking his lightsaber from his belt. “Yeah. I’m good at it. Not quite as good as I am at conning lonely, desperate women into thinking I give a shit about them, though. Sex wasn’t bad, babe. You’re a little tame for my taste, but Jedi usually are.” He slammed the ‘saber down on the bar in front of her. “Never wanted this, either.”  
  
She stared, shaking her head, trying to cover her hurt with disgust. Finally she began to clap, very slowly, as he walked away. “Oh, bravo. There’s the man beneath the facade,” she called after him.  
  
“Schutta,” he snarled under his breath as the door closed behind him, knowing she heard him.  
  
 _Coward_ , her voice answered in his mind. He stopped, instinctively squeezing his eyes closed against the intrusion, but it was gone as quickly as it came, leaving him alone in his thoughts once more.  
  
The sharp tang peculiar to the Nar Shaddaa night was somehow comforting as he continued on, heading for Jint’s place nearby. It was a hovel, but it would do for the time being. He’d lick his wounds awhile and drown his cares away. His old life, in other words. The thought made his stomach churn with self-loathing. No, he couldn’t go back. Maybe rest there awhile, until he figured out what going forward meant: without a mission, without a galaxy to save, without her. Coward. It echoed through his thoughts. If doing the right thing made him a coward, then so be it.  
  
“Yeah?” a crotchety voice said over the speaker.  
  
“Lookin’ for a room, Jint. Some bastard named Rand sent me,” he replied, staring into the camera. There was tired laughter and the door opened.  
  
“How’s life treatin’ ya, Rand?” Jint’s gnarled face greeted. “Long time no see.”  
  
“Like a king,” he replied with all due sarcasm.  
  
He took the keycard and swiped it in the lift slot, said a quick prayer that it would actually make it to his floor and waited as the ancient doors decided if they were gonna close or not. They’d almost made it when a gloved hand shot between them. He cursed under his breath as the doors slid open again and Neela nonchalantly stepped on.  
  
The doors closed. The silence was like a third person, if that person was a bantha. Neither of them said a word until the doors opened again. He repressed an exhale of relief and stepped off.

“Go back to the ship. I _don’t_ want you here.”  
  
Doing a stellar job at being the stubborn woman she was, she followed him down the dimly lit hallway, waiting while he opened the door to his room. He looked at her and shook his head as he stepped inside, immediately turning to block her access. With a tight smile, he watched her indignation as the door closed.  
  
“Are you serious? You know I can break it down,” she threatened.  
  
“Won’t change anything,” he countered. He listened but heard nothing through the thin door, then decided standing right next to it wasn’t a good idea, in case she did decide to blow it to hell with the Force. He hit the light switch and shrugged his jacket off, walking toward the tiny bed that wasn’t long enough for his tall frame, the sad, familiar feeling bitter in his thoughts.  
  
“No? How about this, then: I love you.”  
  
He stopped mid-stride. No way he’d heard that. He was imagining things. Next thing he heard was the door sliding open, but he couldn’t make himself turn around, could barely even breathe.  
  
“Bravo back atcha,” he said at last, looking down over his shoulder, “That was a helluva low blow, Sweets.”  
  
They stood that way in awkward silence for another small eternity as he kicked the floor with the toe of his boot that he’d yet to put down. She lay a hand on his shoulder and moved around in front of him. He took a step back from her.  
  
“You had to know I’d come after you, that a quick goodbye note wasn’t gonna fly. Not after everything that’s happened.”  
  
“I thought ‘ _do_ _not waste my time or yours by coming after me’_ was pretty clear.”  
  
She held his ‘saber up and threw it on the bed. “This is yours, I believe.”  
  
He rolled his eyes at it, if only because it would piss her off. “What exactly are you doing, Neela?”  
  
She sighed, then threw her arms out. “I’ve asked myself the same question. You tell me. Am I wasting my time? Being shamelessly selfish? Pissing Kreia off?”  
  
“Glad to see I’ve rubbed off on you at least a little,” he joked, though the humor fell flat. She moved to embrace him and he did something so against his own desire it almost hurt: he pulled back, taking her hand in some spur of the moment defensive maneuver and holding it like a shield between them.  
  
“Just come back with me,” she said, folding her other hand on top of his. “The others don’t know anything.”  
  
“I can’t.” Seeing her about to protest, he cut her off. “No, just wait.” Now came the part where he had to talk, but he hadn’t prepared for this scenario.

“What…” he searched for the right words, “What you’re doing – this mission – it’s important. Like destiny, with a capital D. My life? Small d, Force or not. You don’t need me hangin’ around distracting you. I’d make a lousy Jedi anyway.”  
  
It was her turn to roll her eyes. “Oh, don’t give me that. Don’t play humble. Everything else aside, you’ve been an asset from the start and you know it. And the Force-”  
  
“It’s the everything else that’s driving me crazy!” he blurted out, untangling his hand from hers and stepping back, hands clutching empty air instead. “I just… I just can’t, Neela. I can’t.”  
  
“You mean you won’t,” she said bluntly.  
  
He looked away, letting her statement stand unchallenged. Can’t, won’t, truthfully there wasn’t much difference that he could see.  
  
“Well that’s just wonderful,” she said. “All that talk about not retying myself to the Jedi quite so quickly, about letting myself live a little, feel a little, that was just talk I guess?”  
  
“No, of course not.” This close to her, he could feel the maelstrom of her emotions rippling through the Force like a storm that couldn’t decide if it was gonna break or not. He hated being responsible for it. It was difficult to resist getting swept up in it when she lost control.  
  
He had to get away from her. This was going bad, fast. He went to step around her, but she blocked him. “Go back to the ship!” he said sharply.  
  
“Hypocrite,” she said in a low voice, her accusation like a punch to his gut. “Sure, I kill a whole planet, thousands of sentients and somehow I’m entitled to a fresh start, but you’re not, is that it?”  
  
“It’s not-“  
  
“No, it’s not the same! As you pointed out once, not so long ago, my body count’s a helluva lot higher than yours!” Hands on her hips, she dropped her head for a moment, as if the memory of his callous snipe still stung.  
  
“News flash: I pointed it out because I’m a bastard, and you cornered me, kind of like you’re doing right now,” he said, hoping she’d catch the veiled warning. Her expression told him she had, so he struck again, his voice rising. “I _told_ you not to get attached to me, didn’t I?!”  
  
“Yes! Now would you stop being so damned evasive and answer my question? Why can’t you just move on?”  
  
Move on. Fresh start. He scowled at her, then turned to pace the small room, stalling. Fighting against his own turmoil of emotions _and_ her was harder than anything they’d come up against Sith-wise. He used to pride himself on being able to divert any kind of discussion, but she’d robbed him of that. It was, he supposed, another side-effect of their Force bond, or then again, maybe she just knew him too well. And here he was, destroying it all, and in the process hurting the only person he’d willingly die for. Hurting her to protect her, an all too familiar theme in his life. People who cared about him wound up dead, a fact that Kreia reminded him of at every opportunity.  
  
“Alright, then,” she said, “tell me you don’t care. Look at me and tell me you don’t love me, and I’ll go.”  
Shaking his head, he whistled his approval, not believing she’d pulled that one on him. “You know, you’re getting better at this whole fighting dirty thing. Some Jedi Master you are.”  
  
She gave a flippant shrug. “What are they going to do, exile me again? Come on, I’m waiting. Say the word and you’ll never see me again.”  
  
Somehow he managed a weak smile at the exchange, even as his heart seized at the thought of never seeing her again. He looked her in the eyes as the lie danced on the end of his tongue.

_Say it. Finish this. I don’t love you. Four little words._

It shouldn’t be hard for someone like him. What did he know about love? Fat lot of nothing, that’s what. The only thing he had to compare it to was the Jedi who’d had the horrible idea to save him, and that was different. Very different.  
  
“I don’t love you.”

It was, quite possibly, the worst bluff he’d ever tried to get over on someone. Even so, he set his jaw firmly and willed himself to hold her stare as her baby blues started to tear up despite her own hard expression. She quickly blinked the tears away.  
  
“I’m pretty sure Mical does love you, though, if you’re desperate…” he trailed off with a slight smirk, though he cringed inside. Every word out of his mouth made him hate himself a little more, but still he kept it up, hell-bent on destruction.  
  
“Nice, Atton. You know what? At least Mical doesn’t make me feel like I’m beating my head against a wall. At least everything’s not a game of dodge and evade to him.”  
  
He couldn’t hold in the petulant hiss. Dodge and evade. How could she say that after everything he’d shared with her? Didn’t matter now, he reminded himself.  
  
“Yeah, he is kind of simple, ain’t he? Just be careful you don’t fall off _that_ pedestal. Long way down,” he said, illustrating the drop with his index finger.  
  
He dropped his gaze as the seconds ticked by and she didn’t reply. He willed her to say something, fight back or even better, to give up and leave. Anything was preferable to the silent stare she answered him with. When things were good, a glance from her made him feel like he was walking on air, like he’d finally found someone who understood him without him having to explain himself. But when they were fighting it was nearly unbearable, like there wasn’t the smallest secret he could keep from her, that she knew things about him that even he didn’t know.  
  
She waited until he looked at her again to speak. “Wanna know what I think? I think you’re full of shit, Rand.”  
  
He snorted quiet laughter, but it sounded more defeated than derisive. “Whatever gets you through the night, babe. And whatever gets you off my back. Speaking of, don’t you have a galaxy to save or something?” he said, pointing toward the door.  
  
“Yes, I do. Force knows I don’t need this kind of distraction right now, but here I am anyway, trying to talk you out of this.”  
  
Desperately low on ammunition, he decided to try his own wall of silence. It was anything but quiet in his mind. Covering his face with his hands, he tried not to hear the little voice suggesting more violent ways to deal with a stubborn Jedi.  
  
“You think you’re the only one who’s scared?”  
  
“Scared?” He stepped forward, but she held her ground. “You don’t get it, do you? Look, I’ll say it slow. I don’t-“

Before he could finish the lie, she grabbed him and planted her lips on his, sucking not only his words but his breath away with a kiss. His hands hovered mid-air, halfway between shoving her away and pulling her closer. Oh yeah, she was definitely fighting dirty. Maybe it was the mixture of emotion, maybe it was the booze, maybe both; all he knew was it felt like his head would explode from the amalgamation.  
  
In a swift motion he pushed her back toward the bed. “If that’s all you wanted you should’ve just said so.”  
  
“That is _not_ all I wanted,” she said emphatically. “What is _wrong_ with you?!”  
  
Wiping his lips with the back of his hand, he stared at her a moment before reaching into his inside jacket pocket and pulling out his flask. There was barely enough whiskey in it to wash the taste of her out of his mouth, but it bought him a few seconds, even if those seconds only confirmed the hopelessness of the situation. This was not at all how he’d imagined this going down.  
  
” _You_ ,” he admitted, his voice cracking with frustration, “You’re wrong with me. I’m trying to do the right thing here, Neela, but you’re not making it easy!”  
  
“The right thing? For who?”  
  
“Who do you think?”  
  
“Oh, Force, not you too!” She ran her hand over her hair and chuckled dryly as she began to pace. “I really wish people would stop assuming they know what’s best for me. Kreia, Mical, Visas – even Goto. And now you.”  
  
“Don’t do that! _Don’t_ lump me in with the others.”  
  
“Don’t give me reason to!” she yelled, with a level of anger that surprised him. She must’ve picked up on it because she softened her voice as she came toward him slowly. “Don’t put me on one of those pedestals. Don’t push me away. You’re the only thing that feels real to me. I _need_ you, Atton.”  
  
On impulse, he reached out and pulled her against him, wrapping his arms around her so tight she gasped before her own circled him.  
  
“I’d push you to the other side of the damned galaxy if I could. In a heartbeat.”  
  
“I’d come back for you,” she said, melting his heart a little more.  
  
He drew back enough to look her in the eyes. “I said I would help you, Neela.”  
  
“And how is you leaving helping me?”  
  
Resting his forehead against hers, he gave her the truth at last. “Because when you get down to it, the only thing I’m good at is hurting people, and I can’t…” he trailed off, the words getting stuck behind the lump in his throat.  
  
“You once told me that in any Pazaak game, no matter how skilled you are, there comes a moment when you just have to trust your instinct and place the bet.”  
  
Damn, she was good. “Points for using my own logic, but I’m way out of my league here, and the stakes are very, very high.”  
  
“So am I,” she replied. “But I like the odds.”  
  
He made a last ditch attempt to come up with some other angle, but he had nothing and he knew it. The fact that she was still standing here – that she was willing to _fight_ for him – literally amazed him, and beneath it all, he found that he felt humbled and immensely grateful, of all things.  
  
“Dammit, Neela,” he whispered against her cheek. Traveling the soft distance to her mouth, he hesitated and hovered there, on the edge of his surrender. He briefly wondered why he ever tried to run before his eyes fell closed and their lips met in gentle, small little apologies at first, until her fingers reached to twist in his hair and pull him closer. He pulled her closer still, the apologies giving way to heated promises made of want and need as the kisses deepened and their hands sought each other’s skin, their clothes suddenly an intolerable barrier, hastily discarded. Force, the way she touched him made him want to crawl inside of her, anything that would give him more of this feeling, more of her.  
  
He lifted her and carried her the few feet to the bed, loving the way she whispered his name and wrapped her legs around him as he lay her down.  
  
“Did you mean it?” he asked, searching her eyes.  
  
“Yes.” Her eyes drifted down to focus on her hand as she stroked his cheek. “Did you?”  
  
He shook his head once. “No,” he whispered, catching her lips with his own, her kiss, her body pulling him under. A quick thrust and he was inside her, the euphoria of it drawing a low growl out of him.

A month ago, he would’ve laughed, but he understood now: this is what people mean when they say _making love_. He’d never felt more present in the moment as he did now. He couldn’t get enough of her with his ordinary senses, or even through the Force, which seemed to whirl around them, flickering like little sparks on their skin.  
  
His head swam with the intensity of what he was feeling. Sweet, holy hell there was so much: love, understanding, ache, refuge; in her he found them all. His hands would not rest, caressing and claiming every inch of her soft skin. His lips collided with hers and hers with his, the hunger driving his hips against her harder and faster with each passing moment. Drowning. He was drowning in her.  
  
He wrapped his arms around her and sat back on his heels, pulling her onto his lap, never breaking the connection. He felt the muscles in her legs begin to tremble as she rode him harder and harder, her moans driving him insane.  
  
“Take it, Neela,” he urged, his voice thick with the immense pleasure he was taking in watching her. “Take anything you fucking want from me.”  
  
“Atton…so close,” she moaned, her nails digging into his shoulders. She arched her upper body backward, her body magnificently destroying any hope he had of resistance. “You… should hurry.”  
  
He exhaled a laugh, knowing hurrying would absolutely not be an issue, but the sound was abruptly cut off by her toe-curling, lip bruising kiss. The air around them seemed to hit some sort of critical mass as the Force flowed between their bodies like a circuit completing itself. Too much, he thought. _Too_ good.

She cried out, the sensation of her coming sending his eyes rolling back into his head as he followed her, letting go of the edge and plummeting headlong into bliss, his hands locking her hips down tight against him. Months of pent up emotion spilled out of him with the physical release, everything spinning out into a dazzling kaleidoscope of color, sound, and feeling that stretched on and on as he clung to her.  
  
It was a long few moments before it registered how tightly they were holding each other. He took a deep breath and blew it out, then kissed her softly, barely brushing her lips. She looked down at him and smiled, her face flushed and fairly glowing.  
  
That humble feeling returned. She saw things in him that he was scared - terrified - he couldn’t live up to, but he didn’t want to run anymore. Besides, she’d shown him how effective that tactic was. No. No more running. Looking into her eyes now, he knew he wanted to give her everything, wanted to be everything to her, wanted to be worthy of those three words.  
  
“How could I not?”  
  
Her brow furrowed slightly, her expression shifting to one that he could only describe as hope. “How could you not what, Atton?”  
  
The lump in his throat decided to make a grand reappearance, too. He looked away a moment to argue with it.

 _Just tell her._  
  
“You…” He took a steadying breath, willing his voice down to a reasonable octave. “You are an extraordinary woman, and force cages and legions of Sith who want to kill us notwithstanding, I _must_ be the luckiest man in the ‘verse.” Her thumb trailed soft over his lips, her smile breaking through the last of his resistance. “How could I not love you.”  
  
She sighed and reached to rake the hair out of his eyes, her voice soft. “I was hoping you might. I tried not to love you, you know. I told myself it was the bad idea of bad ideas, but there was no getting away from it.”

He pressed his lips against the curve of her neck and chuckled. “You make it sound so pleasant.”

“Like a case of Nar Shaddaa clap,” she deadpanned, then broke into soft laughter, her arms tightening around him. “Not that I would know, but I hear it’s impossible to get rid of.”

“Aw, that’s so romantic,” he replied. “You really aren’t gonna get rid of me now, you know.”

“That’s good, because I have no plans to.”

She placed a deliberate kiss to his lips and tugged on him. He followed her down to stretch out on the mattress, feeling a kind of happiness he hadn’t felt in, well, ever. Tucking her hair back away from her face, he marveled at her the way he often did, though in the past it was usually from afar.

He suggested they return to the Hawk, but she didn’t want to just yet, which was just fine with him. As they lay still entwined and drowsiness lulled them toward sleep, he thought about the future. It may be an uncertain quantity given the danger they faced on this mission, but he would face it by her side, come hell, high water, or Sith Lords.


End file.
